


A New Middle Ground

by Qion



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, but those last three are really only mentioned, dark doesn't like being touched, sleep deprived writing folks, wilford likes touching people, you can see the issue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:58:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qion/pseuds/Qion
Summary: It isn't uncommon for Dark and Wilford to deal with nightmares, but sometimes they can have a lasting effect on Dark that Wilford can't really fix. At least, until he finds the perfect solution for both of them.(Dark gets antsy about touching after a nightmare, Wilford as an Absolute Genius goes for an indirect kiss to help him. And it works.)





	A New Middle Ground

**Author's Note:**

> god this was a terrible idea and i already want to throw my laptop out the window  
> im so bad with romance and i already fucked up their characters. please put me out of my misery

Dark had gotten used to the cold, especially since he lacked the warmth that came with a living human body, but even now he felt a chilling breeze against his skin. 

The door leading to the balcony was open, allowing the cold night air to rush into the hallway that was filled with anger and other repressed emotions finally breaking loose. He was sure that if he stepped outside, he would be facing a landscape far from the noise of humanity, but right now, he had to face an argument that he was never in. 

The Detective was pointing a gun, circling William carefully with the gleaming metal barrel aimed straight at his chest. William was moving likewise, exchanging harsh words and throwing accusations at the Detective with a pistol of his own clutched in his hands. Whenever he saw this scene, Dark always had to wince at the volume of their voices, but they were muted this time around. 

Instead of a deafening exchange of yells, he heard a quiet conversation that only he seemed to be aware of; two voices emerging from the closed door just a few feet away. 

_ “Is there really no other way?” _

William’s pistol seemed to linger just a second too long on the Detective’s chest for it to be just a coincidence. 

_ “This house is only going to keep on draining us until we all face the same fate as Mark. We need to act now.”  _

Both of their faces were contorted in a grimace and though their mouths were snarling, Dark couldn’t hear a word they were saying as a heavy sigh lingered from one of the speakers. 

_ “It just doesn’t seem fair. The Attorney really doesn’t deserve this. This story should never have brought them here.” _

William’s hand recoiled back, the pistol leaping out of its hold to fire a round into the Detective. As if he was simply a rag doll dropped by a bored child, the Detective fell to the ground with a limpness that seemed as if he was already dead by the time he dared to confront William. But there was no gunshot, no bang that startled Dark as it should have when it went off. 

_ “Sacrifices must be made if we want to get out here. Either all of us die here or you and I manage to escape. And keep this cursed house hidden away from anyone else who wants to repeat Mark’s mistake.” _

Dark wasn’t even aware of the fact that he was jumping forward, his hands grappling for William’s pistol as his friend jerked backward. The metal was so cool to the touch despite the tight grip it was wrapped in, being tugged between two desperate people until a brush of the trigger brought it alive once more. 

This time, Dark heard the gunshot, the ringing in his ears that brought about the sharp pain that lodged itself just between his ribs. He glanced down and saw his dress shirt ruined, covered with a deep crimson that soaked up all of the colors it could see. William was saying something, the pistol falling to the floor as he reached out with one hand. 

Dark felt something briefly hit the small of his back before momentum sent him toppling over, his fingers uselessly trying to grab William as he fell. For a minute, it was as if he was simply floating through the air, the wind cushioning him until he slammed into the floor with an impact that shattered his bones and stole his breath.

“ _ But do we really deserve to be the ones who get to leave?” _

He couldn’t breathe, his chest constricting with every inhale and impaling itself with every exhale. He was so sure that he was dying, but there was no fading of consciousness or bright light that brought about the end. All he could do was lay there, stuck in the body of someone that wasn’t him. 

_ “Deserve to? You underestimate the danger we’re in. Anyone who can escape the clutches of this house has deserved the right to leave. Death is just the quota here.” _

With a sharp heave, Dark woke up. 

His breathing was labored, his bones aching with the phantom pain of what they once strived to heal while his chest seemed to stab itself in an attempt to recreate his memory. It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t lying on the marble ground floor of the manor, but tangled in bedsheets that were now drenched with sweat. Despite the fact that the moon was up and the sky was a dreary blue, Dark couldn’t feel the cold that should have come with such a setting. 

He closed his eyes, one hand reaching up to clutch at the long-healed wound in his chest as he tried to reign in his breathing to a manageable pace. 

A gruff mumble and the sheets being pulled over to the other side of the bed gave the sudden reminder that Dark wasn’t alone. A body rolled over next to him and Dark turned his head to meet a pair of tired brown eyes and tousled pink hair. 

“Darkipoo?” Wilford muttered, blinking owlishly as he rubbed the remainders of sleep out of his eyes. 

Dark didn’t answer at first, making sure his voice wouldn’t completely give out on him before he answered quietly. “Go back to bed.” 

The sheets fell down to his waist as Wilford sat up, pushing himself up with his elbows and a concerned look on his face. “Is something wrong?” 

Dark really should have expected it now that he thought about it. Wilford was always someone who relied on touch just as much as words, giving out hugs and pats like it was just a normal conversation. But right now, when Dark could still feel the bullet wound in his gut and the aftermath of falling one floor down, a hand on his shoulder really wasn’t the best of help. 

As soon as Wilford’s palm landed on him, Dark was up and on the edge of the bed, a shrill ringing piercing the calm of the bedroom. 

“ _ Don’t touch me!” _

His voice wasn’t composed of several tones working together into a deep melody, reduced to a cacophony of three people all trying to convey the same message as loudly as possible. The blue and red aura that surrounded him was whipping out violently, cycling between striking at Wilford and reaching for him in a matter of seconds. 

It was the crestfallen look on Wilford’s face that brought Dark back, settling him back into the confines of reality as the dream that had plagued him ran off. Guilt was quick to settle deep in the wound that was no longer there, holding him tight in an iron grip as he brought his head down to study the mattress.

“I apologize,” he said, his words lacking their usual power as he refused to look up. “I did not mean to disturb you.” 

The bubblegum pink mop that Wilford called his hair swung rather quickly as he shook his head. “It’s not your fault Darky! Nightmares do that to you.”

His dependence on touch was really showing now as his hands seemed to fidget about, shifting from the covers to his lap and then his hair in repeat. Comfort was something that Wilford could usually supply with a large hug, that sometimes came with sweeping Dark right off the floor, but he was at a bit of a loss at what to do now when touch was taken from him. 

Dark recovered unusually fast regardless, or pretended like he did, already back in bed before Wilford could say another word. He would most likely try to avoid this issue for as long as possible, but Wilford still didn’t want him jumping from one nightmare to the next without at least some respite in between waking bits of reality. 

With a broad smile and a sudden idea, Wilford sat up straight and pressed his index and middle fingers to his lips with great fervor, letting them go with an exaggerated “mwah!” 

Dark only offered him a wary look before he had two fingers pressed to his own lips, effectively silencing any argument he may have wanted to add. His eyes went wide as Wilford removed his hand and let out a guffaw. 

“Well I figured that you wouldn’t want a kiss, so I had to make do!” If he wasn’t up before, then he was wide awake now as he eagerly shifted around. “Did that work?”

Dark was still reeling from Wilford’s gesture, playing over the feeling of his fingers pressed against him. It was oddly endearing, something that Dark would have scoffed at any other time except for now. Something about it was caring in a way, an action that brought about a promise of help.

Wilford’s grin seemed to slide right off his face into shock as Dark hesitantly brought his own hand up to his lips, fingertips only barely grazing his mouth, unlike Wilford’s enthusiastic attempt at molding his hand to his face. There was still some discomfort written plainly all over him, but Dark still brought his fingers up slowly to place them on Wilford’s lips, swiftly redrawing his arm as soon as he came in contact with the other. 

Just as quickly as it left, Wilford’s grin was back with a new twinkle born in his eyes as he laughed, falling back in bed. It didn’t matter that they were both tired now and that it was unlikely that they would get any sleep after this because now it was only them, sharing brief touches with a new joy now that a middle ground was discovered. 

For the first time in what had to have been ages, Dark finally felt warm when Wilford shared a "kiss" with him.


End file.
